RHAEGAR | ROBERT
The heavy wooden door closed softly, separating Rhaegar from the figure of Tywin Lannister who had just taken his leave.
Rhaegar sighed a long sigh, a tired sound that seemed to pull out half his life. The air inside the King's solar felt suffocating, smelling of wax, dry ink, and old dust that never disappeared even though the windows were opened wide.
Tywin had asked, or rather, suggested with a tone that accepted no refusal, the very thing Rhaegar had planned himself: announcing the betrothal to Cersei as soon as possible.
The Old Lion was worried. Rhaegar could see it behind those cold pale green eyes. Tywin saw the crowds in the capital, all bringing beautiful daughters with sweet smiles. He was afraid his investment would be stolen right at the finish line.
Rhaegar stood up from his hard work chair. He looked at the stack of documents on his desk with nausea... that stack never shrank. Every time he signed one, two more appeared from nowhere.
Enough, he thought to the empty room.
He was too tired to read one more word about the price of harvest. He had lost interest, and felt he would go mad if he stayed inside this stone box for another hour. His soul struggled under the weight of bureaucracy.
Rhaegar walked out, his steps slow and irregular, not like the steady steps of a king, but rather the steps of a man looking for a way out of chaos.
The Red Keep was busy as usual, buzzing with activity like a beehive restless before a storm. The coronation event would happen in a few days, and the tension of anticipation hung in the air. Every time Rhaegar passed someone in the corridor, the world seemed to stop for a moment.
Servants carrying stacks of sheets stopped and bowed deeply. Guards clicked their spears. Nobles gossiping immediately shut their mouths and bowed their heads with forced respectful smiles.
"Your Grace," they murmured.
Rhaegar nodded to them all, his face a mask of perfect politeness, but inside, he felt alienated.
He continued walking, his feet taking him away from the main hustle, towards a more secluded part of the garden facing the sea.
Here, the atmosphere was quieter. The stone walls absorbed the afternoon sun's heat, creating pockets of comfortable warmth. In the distance, in the lower courtyard, Rhaegar could see small children, perhaps children of servants or household knights, running around chasing each other. Their laughter sounded faint, carried by the wind.
Rhaegar stopped near the railing, observing them. A thin smile touched his lips.
Thinking of that again, he remembered Jaime Lannister's project in Lannisport. A school. Education for the common people. Rhaegar wanted to do the same here, in King's Landing. He wanted to build a place where those children could learn to read, write, and dream bigger than just becoming servants.
This was a plan he had thought through carefully in sleepless nights. But he knew the reality. Before he could build a school, he had to ensure there was no turmoil. He had to ensure the royal treasury was full. He had to marry.
The Kingdom needed stability before it needed enlightenment.
Rhaegar sighed again, letting the wind ruffle his silver hair. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the sun on his face.
"Your Grace."
The voice was soft, yet possessed a clarity that broke his reverie.
Rhaegar opened his eyes and turned, raising one eyebrow.
There, standing a few steps from him, was Cersei Lannister.
The girl looked... glowing. She wore a dress of emerald green silk that accentuated the color of her eyes, with intricate gold embroidery on the neck and sleeves. Her long golden hair was left loose, shimmering under the sunlight like liquid gold. She smiled, a smile that was polite yet held an unusual warmth.
"My Lady," greeted Rhaegar.
I just spoke with your father about binding you to me for life, and now you are here, thought Rhaegar, laughing a little in his mind. Is this a coincidence, or did Tywin send you to ensure the deal?
However, as he stared at Cersei's face, he did not see Tywin's shadow there. He only saw a beautiful young girl.
"The weather is beautiful, is it not?" Cersei walked closer slowly, her movement graceful like a cat. She stopped beside Rhaegar, looking out towards the open sea. "The wind is cool. It brings the scent of salt that cleanses the lungs. Making anyone who feels it able to feel peace."
Cersei looked up, staring at the sky. "And the sky... the sky above is so blue and cloudless. It makes the sounds of birds perching more audible. Can you hear them, Your Grace? They are singing."
Rhaegar followed her gaze. A small sparrow was chirping on a tree branch near them.
"Yes," answered Rhaegar, his voice softening. "Those birds look free. And cheerful."
Cersei turned to him, her eyes seeking Rhaegar's purple eyes.
"I think that is good," whispered Cersei. "Too much sadness has passed lately. Death, war, ash... it all makes the color of the world grey. So that we forget that the world can have its own beauty. Those birds... they remind us of the cheerfulness that still exists, if we want to see it."
"I did not suspect you were a poetic person, My Lady," Rhaegar joked lightly, the corner of his lips lifting. "I thought Jaime took all the artistic talent in your family."
Cersei laughed softly, a sound crisp and pleasant. "Jaime has his own talents, Your Grace. But he is not the only one who can see beauty. Does my appearance not display such things? Do I look so... stiff?"
"Your appearance displays many things, Lady Cersei," said Rhaegar honestly, laughing, staring at her with new appreciation. "Beauty, elegance, the dignity of House Lannister. And I think, I am just a little confused which one is more dominant today."
Cersei stared at him intently, then smiled wider. "That is good."
Rhaegar stopped, confused. "Pardon?"
"Hearing your laughter, Your Grace," said Cersei gently. She stepped a little closer, breaching the boundary of formality just a little, creating a momentary intimacy. "Forgive me if this is presumptuous, but... all this time, when I saw you in the distance, at feasts or in the hall... you always looked sad. Tired. As if you carried the sky on your shoulders like a hero in ancient legends."
Cersei looked down slightly, then looked at him again through her curled eyelashes.
"If you laughed, it looked forced. A polite smile for boring Lords. But now... just now... I stood in front of you and heard you laugh so freely, even if it was just a small joke. It was relieving. It made you look... human."
Rhaegar fell silent. He was transfixed by that honesty.
Oh, was I that obvious before?
He knew he was melancholic. He knew he often drowned in his own dark thoughts. Yet he always thought that he had hidden it well behind the mask of a perfect prince. Turns out, this girl had seen through that mask.
And she was right.
When he laughed just now, responding to Cersei's light joke, he felt lighter. The weight on his chest lifted slightly. For a moment, it felt like he forgot he held the weight of a heavy kingdom.
"I did not expect my laughter to be so awaited, or noticed in such detail," said Rhaegar softly, his tone turning warmer.
"Everyone prefers their king to keep smiling, Your Grace," Cersei looked at him with conviction. "The common folk believe that if the King smiles, then the harvest will be good. And the nobles... they feel safer if the King does not look like he is planning an execution."
Rhaegar laughed again, this time louder. "So, my smile is a matter of Westerosi security?"
"You could say so," Cersei joined in smiling, her eyes twinkling wittily. "But for me personally... it means the King has a clean heart. And looks caring. Not about power, but about happiness."
"You have a unique perspective, Cersei," said Rhaegar, using her first name unconsciously. "You remind me that I am not just a symbol. Thank you."
"Only doing my duty as a loyal subject, Your Grace," answered Cersei with charming humility.
They stood there for a few moments in comfortable silence, accompanied only by the sound of the wind and bird songs.
"I do not want to keep you from your duties, or from the beauty of this garden," said Cersei finally, stepping back gracefully. "It was a pleasure speaking with you, Your Grace."
"The feeling is mutual, My Lady," answered Rhaegar sincerely.
"I have other things to do, my friend might be looking for me to try on dresses again," Cersei grimaced wittily, making Rhaegar smile. "I take my leave."
Cersei bowed respectfully, then turned.
"May your day be pleasant, Lady Cersei," said Rhaegar.
He continued staring at the figure as Cersei walked away, continuing away until the wall separated them.
...
The dust in the training yard billowed into the air, swirling under the increasingly scorching sunlight.
CLACK!
The sound of wood clashing with wood rang loud and satisfying. The training sword in Robert's hand moved with a deceptive speed for his large size, parrying a clumsy attack from his opponent, then with a fluid spinning motion, he swept the girl's legs.
Lyanna let out a stifled shriek, a sound of shock, not fear, as her balance was lost. She fell to the sandy ground slowly, her sword slipping from her grasp.
"Lost," said Robert, grinning broadly while pointing his sword right beside Lyanna's neck.
Lyanna's breath heaved. Her face was flushed red, partly from heat, partly from shame, and mostly from pure competitive anger. Her hair which was tied neatly earlier was now messy, several strands sticking to her sweaty cheeks.
However, she did not cry. She did not whine.
Her grey eyes lit up, staring at Robert with a fire that made Robert's blood rush. The girl did not want to give up when defeated. She swatted Robert's sword away with her dirty hand, then tried to get up again as if she was ready for a fourth, fifth, or hundredth round.
Very amazing. Robert stepped back, giving her space to stand. Seeing someone, especially a noble girl who was supposed to be afraid of breaking a nail, having a fighting spirit like that was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in King's Landing.
"You are terrible at slashing, you know?" commented Robert, his tone mocking but his eyes warm. He mimicked Lyanna's movement earlier. "You swing that sword like swatting a fly. Too wide. Too much wasted energy. I could beat you endlessly, all day long, without breaking much sweat."
Lyanna snorted, cleaning the dust from her trousers roughly.
"Don't be too confident, Robert," she said sharply.
That name, Robert, came out of her lips without the frills of 'My Lord' or 'Lord Baratheon'.
It made Robert's heart beat faster than during the fight earlier. It felt like an arrow piercing directly into his chest, but in a pleasant way. He liked hearing it. He liked the way Lyanna said it, with a little growl at the end.
Lyanna picked up her sword again, staring at him with a challenging gaze. "I am a person who is good at learning. I watched your movements. Your left leg is open when you attack high. And you will taste dust sooner or later in your mouth. I swear."
Robert laughed, his voice bouncing off the old stone walls. "You have to beat my training time first if you really want to do that, Lya. I have held weapons since I could walk. Your path is still long."
"Maybe," nodded Lyanna, her chin lifted arrogantly. "But for sure it will happen. And when that happens, I will make you eat your wooden sword."
"Now, that is the spirit I like!" cried Robert. He raised his sword again, ready. "Want to try again? I can give you one more chance to embarrass yourself."
Lyanna opened her mouth to agree, her eyes sparkling with spirit. But then she stopped. She looked around, at the shadows starting to shorten on the wall. Then she looked up at the sky which had started to sting with heat.
Her expression changed. The fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by grounded worry. Her brows furrowed.
"No," she said finally, lowering her sword reluctantly. "I think I will take my leave. Father might look for me if I am out too long."
There was a bitter tone at the end of her sentence.
"And I must bathe," added Lyanna, wiping the sweat on her neck. "I cannot meet him in a state like this without being suspected."
Robert nodded, agreeing. He also started to feel the heat of the sun. "Alright."
He walked closer, taking the wooden sword from Lyanna's hand. Their hands touched briefly, and Robert felt thin calluses on the girl's palm. Real proof of her secret training.
"Tomorrow then?" offered Robert, his tone hopeful.
Lyanna stared at him. A smile slowly bloomed on her dirty face. The smile was sincere, without burden, and to Robert, it was more beautiful than the sunrise.
"Yes," answered Lyanna. "Tomorrow. Because I am not satisfied if I haven't been able to push you until you fall."
"In your dreams," Robert chuckled.
He placed the two wooden swords back in their original place. Then they walked leaving the training ground, following a shady path towards the main castle building. They walked side by side, their shoulders occasionally brushing.
Their bodies looked sticky with sweat. Robert's tunic was wet at the back and armpits, and he realized he smelled sour, the smell of hard work and masculinity, he reassured himself. But Lyanna...
Robert stole a glance at her. Her hair was limp, her face dusty, her neck glistening with sweat. Yet strangely, when the wind blew, Robert smelled the scent of flowers. Winter flowers, wild roses, and pine.
How could she be like that? Robert wondered in amazement. How could a girl sweat and roll in the dirt yet still smell like a garden? It must be Stark magic.
"So," Robert started a conversation, breaking the comfortable silence between them. "Actually your movements are not bad. For someone who learns secretly."
Lyanna turned, raising one eyebrow skeptically. "A compliment? From you?"
"I am serious," said Robert. "Your stance is solid. And your reflexes are fast. You were able to match me in a few things, at least in parrying. That shows potential... you often trained at Winterfell?"
Lyanna looked down staring at the tip of her dusty shoes. Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a melancholic nostalgic expression.
"Sometimes," she said softly. "When Father was busy enough taking care of preparations or arguing with bannermen, so he didn't have time to care about me... I would sneak into the training yard."
"Who trained you?" asked Robert. "The Master-at-Arms?"
"At first, yes. Or at least, I asked the guards to train together. They were afraid to refuse their Lord's daughter," Lyanna laughed a little, a dry sound. "However because Father eventually always scolded them if found out, I didn't do it anymore. I didn't want them punished because of me."
Robert could imagine the stiff Rickard Stark scolding poor soldiers.
"So I learned by myself. Hitting wheat sacks also slashing tree branches." continued Lyanna. "And Benjen. Only Benjen was left who wanted to play with me. Brandon was too busy being the heir, Ned was sent to the Vale... so Benjen was the only one by my side."
"Your brother seemed to be having fun." commented Robert, remembering the shy youngest Stark boy.
"Benjen is a good boy. He is the only one who understands," said Lyanna. Her voice lowered. "Winterfell is lonely, Robert. Very lonely. The walls are high and grey. The wind always howls. Sometimes it feels like you are the only living person there. So we... Benjen and I... we could only entertain each other. Wooden swords were our escape."
Robert heard the loneliness in her voice. Loneliness he never felt in the crowded Storm's End or in the Eyrie full of foster brothers. He wanted to embrace her, tell her that she would not be lonely anymore. That Storm's End would be a warm home full of feasts.
But he held back. It was not the time yet.
"You will not be lonely here," said Robert finally, his voice firm. "As long as I am here, you will have a sparring partner. And if you want, I can teach you how to hit correctly so you don't just parry."
Lyanna stared at him, her eyes softening. "You would be a bad teacher, Robert. You are too impatient."
"But I am a handsome teacher," Robert grinned.
Lyanna laughed again, shaking her head. "Bleh. Besides, Father actually isn't that bad, he lets me ride horses and train lately... of course in Winterfell."
They continued chatting lightly along the way back. About the differences between Winterfell and King's Landing, about how bad the food was on the journey, about Ned who was always too serious.
They reached the corner of the corridor separating the Stark guest wing and the Arryn guest wing. Lyanna stopped. She tidied her messy hair with her fingers, trying to look a little more presentable.
"We better part here," whispered Lyanna, as if afraid this moment would break if she spoke too loudly. "Before Father sees me like a sewer rat."
"Alright," Robert agreed reluctantly. He actually still wanted to chat, but he knew the limits of his luck. "I also want to bathe. Cold water sounds like heaven right now."
Lyanna sniffed the air demonstratively, then covered her nose with an impolite joking style.
"Yes, you must bathe," she said, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "You smell, Robert. Like a wet bear."
Robert laughed out loud, not offended at all. He puffed out his chest proudly.
"This isn't bear smell." he exclaimed. "This is called the smell of victory. Remember that when you smell lavender later tonight and remember your defeat."
Lyanna snorted, but her smile was wide.
"Until tomorrow, Smelly Winner," she said.
She turned and jogged towards her place, her steps light and free. Robert watched her go until she disappeared behind the wooden door.
He stood there for a moment, alone in the corridor, with a silly smile refusing to disappear from his face. He smelled, he was tired, and he had just spent the morning beating his betrothed with wood.
And strangely, he didn't feel guilty.
...
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